Reflections: Now That I'm Back Home

Since my return home, I've been thinking about my life in Colorado compared to my life in Africa, Turkey and the Middle East.  I've been thinking too about the way this trip changed me.  The first thing that comes to mind is how my faith has been increased.  Before I left, I obsessed about our finances.  I budgeted and forecasted like the CFO of our lives, but when my flash drive was destroyed by a virus and our laptops were stolen, my Quickbooks and Excel spreadsheets were gone.  I didn't have the ability to obsess anymore.  And it was liberating.  It's carried over to being home too.  We're preparing to move to Hawaii for grad school and we only have 2 months to prepare.  Normally, I would be worried about how we're going to afford flights, shipping, housing, and replacement laptops, but I'm not.  I just believe we're going to figure it out.  Call it magical thinking, call it trust in the One that has seen us through a million other circumstances... I just have confidence that it'll all be okay.  It might mean that I have to use an old dinosaur computer at the university's library, or that I don't get my Starbucks latte every day, but I feel like I can be content with that.  I just don't feel the need to worry anymore.

Another thing that has changed are my priorities.  I've done some thinking about what is rewarding to me, and I'm making some small changes to increase my enjoyment in life.  Mainly, I've found that I've become more introverted since living in the West.  It's not that I mind being introverted (solitude recharges me), but I still crave being social.  So, I'm working harder to put myself out there in the awkward space of getting together with friends.  I'm also challenging myself to learn more Spanish and take a dance or art class.  I feel uncomfortable just thinking about it, but I think I'll enjoy it.  It's like that saying... "Do the same thing, get the same results," right?  So, I'm mixing it up a bit and hoping to get more rewarding results.  There are some other things too... the desire to be a more warm, trusting person, to be more open and less immediately resistant to change, to be more trusting and optimistic rather than a skeptic, and to be more bold and less afraid.  I don't know that a 5 month trip truly changes all these things; I just know that they're on my radar, and that's a good starting point.

Before we got home, I wondered how the transition would go- if we'd have reverse culture shock, be exhausted by the time change, or be depressed about having to go back to work.  Actually, we adjusted really well.  We stayed at Mark's dad's place for a week to recoup.  We slept when the sun went down, and got up when the sun was up.  Granted, there were exceptions like an urge to wake up at 3am and nap at 9am, but overall, we adjusted really well.  Moreso, I noticed the differences like how difficult it is to get by without a vehicle, cell phone, and laptop in the States.  Also, I noticed how much wide open space there is, and how it takes an extra effort to truly connect with people.  It seems that we have our work schedules and television programs, and we're too tired or stressed or financially constricted to do much beyond that.  And although those things are important, I find myself searching to create something more.  I want my sunrise run through the Monument, and my sunset walk toward the Bookcliffs and Mt. Garfield; something about the way they light up at night... it makes me smile just thinking about the way the warmth of the sun spills all over them, highlighting the ridges and deepening the valleys like only God can.  I want time every day to snuggle up with my husband in that perfect niche of his shoulder.  I want time with family, and I'm really looking forward to the time when Mark and I can start our own family.

More than anything else, I was struck by the kindness that exists in the world.  We have such easy access to the news about natural disasters, financial crises, political indiscretions, and celebrity entertainment, and when I watch the news I get the impression that things are falling apart.  But news is newsworthy because it's abnormal, not the makings of every other ordinary day.  While I travelled, I looked around and saw a lot of everyday goodness.  I saw carefree African children in their underwear, splashing salty waves at the beach.  I saw Middle Eastern young men giving up their seats for elderly people on the train.  I saw Turkish citizens inviting strangers into their homes.  I saw hope in the eyes of Egyptians who had overcome a revolution.  I saw Israeli soldiers offer rides to hitch-hikers.  I was overwhelmed by the goodness in the world.  Travelling has given me the desire to look for more of that goodness, and to contribute to that goodness.

In a nut-shell, this trip taught me how to have more fun in my life, and I'm pretty happy about that.

Visa Fees

Many American travelers ship their passports off to an intermediary company who for $131 secures a visa for the country they are visiting.  It’s a valuable service for people who are traveling for a short period of time and need the security or peace of mind that their entry at the border will be smooth.  Backpackers, on the other hand, live and die by a budget, so if there are commissions to be shaved, backpackers shave away.  Usually, visas can be obtained at a country’s border for about $20 (US currency), give or take (Mozambique was a surprising $80, while Greece was actually free).  There are exceptions like India, Vietnam, and Syria; these have to be mailed in advance, but in most places, it’s pretty easy to show up, fill out the request, and process it at the airport or land border.  Occasionally, a baksheesh “processing fee” (pad my wallet bribe) is added at the land crossings, but not always.  Visa fees are supposed to be standard, but we have found that it’s difficult to get accurate information, so if anyone reading this is traveling right now, here’s what you can expect to pay based on what we paid when we crossed into the following countries:

Turkey: $20

Jordan: 8 Dinars upon exit (aprox $12).  Also note, you are not permitted to cross at the middle border from Israel to Jordan.  You must use the southern or northern border crossings.  The north looks shorter, but the south is quicker and more popular according to a gal at the visitor’s center in Jerusalem.   P.S.  Thank you to the traveler who borrowed me dinars at the border.  I looked for you on the other side, but couldn’t find you to pay you back.

Israel: 101 Shillings upon exit (aprox $27 USD).  Don’t make too many plans before or after leaving.  The border crossing can take a couple of hours as they have more security screening than the US (bomb sniffing, x-ray machines, pat down, questioning, herding through long lines, etc).

Greece: Free!  And it’s quick too.

Egypt: $15 single entry at the airport arrival in Cairo, 51 LE (aprox $11 US) for multiple re-entry at the border in Taba (you must get this if you’re exiting to Israel and returning to Egypt).  When coming into Egypt from Israel, there’s a port fee of 75 LE (Egyptian pounds) which is paid after the border, when you secure transportation from the border.  There is an ATM inside of the Hilton hotel.

Hope that helps!

Couch Surfing Nightmare- Cairo, Egypt

From Athens, we flew to Cairo, where we had arranged to couch-surf with an enthusiastic French expat who has worked for an oil company in Africa for the past 17 years.  Fabrice (Fab) informed us that it was great timing because we would arrive on his birthday and there would be a party.  He also informed us that there may be two additional surfers in his home. 

Egyptian Museum in Cairo

Burnt Parliment Building next to Egyptian Museum

(1 block from Tahrir Square, Taken Shortly After Revolution)

Fab wasn’t home when our taxi arrived, so the other two French surfers let us into his home.  The surfers, William and Nora, told us that they had been walking together across Africa for the past two years and were getting by on 1.5 euros per day.  We were shocked.  How was this possible?  Over the next few days, we saw that they were surviving on meals like rice with onion slices and cauliflower puree.  They told us that they had slept under the stars with no tent and carry only one change of clothes.  Despite the bacteria and toxins, they drink the local water.   We tried to understand why they would do this to their health, but all they would say is “it’s complicated.”  They had been staying at Fab’s for nearly 2 months.  They almost never left the house.  We thought it was strange that they were “walking across Africa” because all we saw was that they were couch-surfing for months at a time.  They struck me as flagellating Islamic monks (if such a thing existed).

Preparations for Fab’s party were underway when we arrived.   The main floor was being transformed with high volume music, a table full of alcoholic drinks, snack food, strobe lights, and a dance floor.  It had all the makings of a “made for television” party.  Expats from around the world started filling the house around 8pm and we stayed up chatting with ambassadors, state department employees, rugby players, and Venezuelans over the high volume music.  At 4am, we finally barricaded our door with our backpack so that roaming couples would know our bed was off limits for the remainder of the night.

The following morning, Mark wasn’t feeling well (one too many shots of tequila?), so I offered to make him something to eat.  When I came downstairs, Nora was mopping the floor and cleaning up after the party which I thought was sweet but unnecessary because Aga, the housekeeper, would come later, but I also realized she had been staying for 2 months and may have felt obligated to help with the clean-up.  Mark and I hadn’t been grocery shopping yet, and Fab wasn’t awake, so I asked William if he thought Fab would mind if I made eggs and toast.  I came down later and asked Nora if there was any coffee.  “No,” she said.  I asked if she knew where I could find a coffee shop.  She suspected there was one near the grocery store, but wasn’t sure because they never spend money on luxuries.

That night, Mark was hungry, so I asked Nora if Fab had any cereal in the house.  She got huffy and replied, “It’s the first rule of couch-surfing.  If you didn’t bring it, don’t eat it!”  I was mortified.  I immediately realized how we had transported Turkish hospitality to Egypt where it didn’t belong.  We had planned to cook meals for everyone, but Fab was now away for the night, camping and kite-surfing for his birthday.  It was painfully awkward, but Mark and I privately discussed our humiliation and were sure we could rectify the situation.

The next morning, we got the passive aggressive treatment from William and Nora.  It was awkward, but we hoped things would smooth over when we brought home groceries.  Later that night, as we prepared a meal for everyone, William and Nora stormed in and wouldn’t respond when we greeted them.  When we tried to make conversation in the kitchen, William turned to us with a face full of hostility and screechingly accused, “I don’t like you.  You’re parasites!”  We were shocked by the level of anger showing in his eyes.  “Woah, I think there was a misunderstanding,” Mark calmly replied as he turned from the counter where we were preparing fajitas.  I tried to explain that we felt bad about the misunderstanding and William yelled at me, “I believe in his (Mark’s) eyes that he is sorry, but I don’t believe you (Annie).  You’re making excuses, and you are a bad person.”  I couldn’t believe this was happening.  I felt like in this moment HE was the horrible person, but all I could say was that I was sad, angry, and offended by his remark.  “You didn’t even buy toilet paper!” He hissed.  “We DID buy toilet paper, “ Mark tried to reassure him.  There was no rationalizing to be done; he wanted to hate us.  William and Nora refused to eat the food we had cooked for everyone, but with a righteous indignation resigned not to tell Fab that we had broken the rules by making breakfast (even though we asked first to see if it was okay and then bought groceries to replace what we had eaten).  I hated William’s self-righteous judgment, and I desperately wanted to leave the house and get a hotel.

The next morning, as Mark and I cooked breakfast, Nora policed the kitchen to make sure we weren’t taking anything that wasn’t ours.  I felt like I was being racially profiled and followed in a department store, some clerk watching over my shoulder, ready to call in security at any moment if I used a pinch of salt or pepper.  William and Nora felt like the “letter of the law” though I imagined Fab to be a “spirit of the law” kind of guy.  To avoid an altercation, I cooked our bland meal without seasoning.  I took a handful of ice from the freezer for my coffee and felt judgment condemning me from the other room.  I took a glass of water from the purified tank and felt judged.  I needed out of the house, away from the over-zealous judgment. 

I thought about William’s comment.  The definition of a parasite is one who can’t survive without a host.  I knew Mark and I could certainly get by without one, but I saw that William and Nora depended on a host.  Sure, they paid for their own food and toilet paper, but their host had paid for the bed they were sleeping in, the utility bills for their showers and light, and the computer that they had been using for the past two months.  I doubt they could have afforded to take care of themselves for the past two months in Cairo on 1.5 Euro per day.  I started to wonder if they were lashing out at us for the judgment they felt for themselves.  I didn’t care that Fab provided a place for them to live for 2 months because that was his prerogative, but I didn’t appreciate the recipient of all that goodwill turning to me with judgment about something that had nothing to do with them.  It was Fab’s eggs that we ate… or was it?  “Our food is precious to us,” William had said earlier.  “We have to hide our food from surfers,” he had said.  I wondered if he was treating all surfers this way.  If he had simply communicated, “Hey, you ate 3 of our eggs, could you please replace them?” of course we would have done so immediately.  But, instead there was no grace, no forgiveness, no benefit of the doubt, no healthy communication.

After the party, William had commented about the amount of waste people had left, half-empty drinks which were expensive.  He was a biblical Martha, so concerned about the cost or preparation that he missed the joy of the moment itself.  The point of the birthday party was for Fab to be surrounded by his friends who were having a great time dancing, talking, and enjoying themselves.  It was unfortunate to be in a great guy’s house but living with two miserable people.  We decided it was time to forgive, forget, and move on.  As we left the house, William apologized for his behavior.  "I feel ashamed.  I see now that you are good people."  We wished them well, left our groceries behind, and boarded a bus to Dahab.  Awkwardly enough, we saw them again later in Cairo.  They again apologized again for their bad behavior.  I’d like to believe we all learned some valuable lessons about how we can behave better in these situations.

Engraving Plates in the Bazaar

Local transport

Carrying Bread Through the Market

Mt. Sinai, Egypt

In Dahab, we saw excursion packages for St. Catherine's Monastery.  The excursion was less than $20, but it didn't do much for me- until I realized this was a NIGHT HIKE up MOSES MOUNTAIN.  When I got that bit of information, I was totally sold.  We paid in advance and got excited about the candle-light mountain hike and sunrise.  We were stoked... until the sun set and we started getting sleepy-eyed.  By 10pm, we were nearly ready to call it off and crawl in bed, but the shuttle finally pulled in.  We sipped tea and told ourselves that we could power through once we started walking.

Our heads bobbed as the shuttle sped along to the base base of the mountain.  I was wearing long sleeves and a light fleece, but I was chilly when we stumbled out of the van.  I may or may not have moaned quietly and complained that I was cold... I don't remember...  it was cold.  I discovered a scarf salesman hanging out at the bathrooms and quickly grabbed two.  He helped Mark and I tie the traditional black and white checkered towels around our head.  I thought briefly about mummifying myself in more scarves, but decided against it.  It was dark, but my fashion-less-ness has limits.

Mark wanted to take off on our own, but I insisted that I would be sticking with our guide.  After all, it was a night hike, on a desert mountain, in a foreign country.  At about 12:30 at night, we switched on our head-lamps and started the gradual ascent.  I had heard stories about people carrying candles up the mountain but I quickly dismissed them as the wind caused me to shiver.  We passed sauntering camels, empty cafes, and rocky outcroppings.  Occasionally, Mark and I would pause at the back of the group, switch off our headlamps, and marvel at the star-filled sky and breath-taking mountain silouettes.  Looking behind us, the dark starlit valley was spectacular.  We were immediately glad we hadn't gone back to sleep.  It was an incredible night hike. 

By about 4:00am, we neared the top of the mountain and stopped at a small wooden cafe for tea, chocolate bars, and blankets.  After a brief warming, we pulled the wool blankets tighter around our shoulders and headed up the final ascent, 750 stairs... oof dah.  When we got to the summit, we elbowed our way to the edge so that we could watch the sun rise over the rugged, purple mountain-filled panorama.  Words and pictures can't express how beautiful it was.  We huddled together in our blankets and drank in the sunlight the spilled over the mountains.  I smiled at Mark when I realized that we had stayed up all night.  I was so glad that we did.

After an hour or so of the sunrise, we trekked back down the stone steps to return our rental blankets (money well spent).  Our guide asked if we would prefer to take camels back down the regular path or if we would rather take the 3,750 steps of penitence.  One sounded expensive and the other sounded grueling...  frankly, the way he put it out there sounded like going down 3,750 steps was not humanly possible.  Still, we chose the free route... 3,750 steep steps of penitence.  It was steep... the whole way down.  The rocky orange views were gorgeous, but by 2/3 of the way down, my thighs were involuntarily beginning to shake (I thought they were strong after all of the squatty potties we had encountered, but 3,750 steps is a lot of squats, especially after hiking all night).  Eventually, we ended up back at St. Catherine's Monastery where I had time to take a nap on a sunny boulder (they don't open till 8am).  It was like a Black Friday sale at the entrance where hikers anxiously awaited a view of the burning bush.  I had no illusions that this was the original bush that Moses saw, but I liked the humor of a fire extinguisher sitting beneath it.

This Trip's Travel Books

I started thinking about the books I read during my trip and couldn't find a theme among them.  I guess my taste is eclectic... yep, that's definately the common thread...

1.  The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake- Aimee Bender (from Oprah's book list- the main character can taste the chef's emotions when she eats)

2.  Dark Star Safari, From Cairo to Cape Town- Paul Theroux (sincerely overlooks the positive attributes of Africa, but still describes it very well, and because I was in Africa at the time, it captivated me)

3.  Mainly Fair Throughout the Kingdom- George McBean (set in Nepal, written by my friend's dad who wrote the book for his son, Fergus.  I thought it was incredibly sweet that a father would write a book for each of his grown children)

4.  Shantaram- Gregory David Roberts (an escaped con who sold the book as his own story with lots of embellishments and an intense love for "hearing himself write," but his early descriptions of India took me back)

5.  1984- George Orwell (I figured it was time to catch up on the constant references to mind control- what a crappy world to live in)

6.  What the Dog Saw- Malcolm Gladwell (I LOVE THIS BOOK!  The psychological case studies are so interesting and counter-intuitive)

Petra, Jordan

We arrived in Aqaba, Jordan with bewildered looks on our faces.  An Texas-American had just paid double for an already expensive cab ride.  He flung an crisp, impatient $20 at the Israeli cab driver who claimed not to have any change for his already expensive $10 taxi service to the border.  Not that we should care; the ride was free for us... awkward, but free.  There was a misunderstanding when we asked the couple if they had been in Israel for "Passover."  The woman corrected us, "Easter," while her husband became noticeably agitated.  We knew they were likely Christian pilgrims, but they seemed offended like we had somehow suggested they were Jewish.  We were just trying to be respectful of the local faith, like pronouncing a town's name by the local pronounciation.  At any rate, the ride was free, so that was awesome.

At immigration, an Austrian gal asked us if we would split a cab with her to save costs, so we partnered up and made our way toward the swarm of vultures circling the taxi's.  A sign read 6 dinars to the bus station, but there were always the excess "baggage fees" to deal with.  By the time we reached the bus station, I was warn out, so I camped on the bags while Mark scouted for food and an ATM.  As he scouted, I got hounded by a guy who wanted to drive us in his private Toyota Hilux instead of the cheap bus.  I thanked him for his offer, but kindly asked him to let me be.  He declined and said he'd go ahead and pull his vehicle up by my bags so that we'd be ready to go when my husband returned.  Persistent, I give him that much.  While leaning on the hood of his Hilux truck, the man stared me down and smoked a ciggerette.  Mark returned with pitas and as we ate our lunch on the curb, the driver focused his efforts on Mark who quickly negotiated a reasonable fare.  "Alcohol's cheaper in town," the driver stated as we pulled away from the bus station.  From the back seat I watched the driver pop the top of a tall can of beer.  I elbowed Mark like, "Get me out of here; I'm not dying from a drunk driving incident in the mountains of Jordan."  "It's just one beer," he calmly replied.  Ugh.  We were playing by "outside-America" travel rules (although these rules may still apply to small towns in America).  My eyes and jaw relented as I pulled on my seatbelt, "Fine, but if he pops another, I'm outta here."

The scenery outside was breath-taking; tall, jagged purple mountains with veins of orange and cream and black filled the landscape.  Industrial oil and gas plants dotted the valleys.  The roads were smoothly paved, nice for driving at high speeds through the windy mountains; it actually felt a little like driving Independence Pass but with sand instead of green.  The driver spent most of the 2 hour drive smoking ciggerettes (with the windows up) and talking on his cell phone.  As we neared the town of Petra the views just kept getting better; the mountains opened up into a panorama of the sandy, mountain-filled valley.  In Petra, our driver attempted to negotiate a deeply discounted room, but we had a misunderstanding and thought he was trying to collect a commission, so we ditched him for an internet cafe (where he later found Mark getting dance lessons, but that's another story).  We ended up at the hotel he originally took us to.  The hotel owner asked us if we wanted a cup of tea.  I was so frazzled by the earlier events of the day that I asked her how much it was going to cost me.  I felt humiliated when she said it was free. 

I realized I was getting too wound up and needed to relax.  I ventured down the street in search of something sweet and found just the right thing, a bakery with an employee who reminded me of my friend, Brett.  With a big grin, he offered me a piece of baklava and when I reached out to accept it, he tricked me and dropped it into his hand, away from my reach.  I laughed and lightened up.

The next morning, we purchased box lunches and walked to Petra.  Claire and Olivier had prepared us for the steep price tag, $75 each (on the upside, a store-owner gave us FREE Jordan flag patches for our backpacks).  The entry was gorgeous: an red-orange, sandstone slot canyon.  Horse-drawn carriages whisked past over cobblestones while camels moseyed by.  Suddenly, through the end of the canyon, a view of the Treasury appeared.  We crained our necks upward to take it in, and decided to picnic off to the side so we could take in the full view.  There were Roman-esque soldiers posing for photos while camels paraded back and forth with various passengers striking poses. 

We continued on foot over sandy rock toward the Monastery.  Past the tombs, up the hills, and around the corners, we came across an adorable little girl in a backward baseball cap, sitting on a park bench.  She was supposed to be selling postcards, but instead she was coloring on them with a blue pen.  Covered in goobers, yet irrisistably precious, we wanted to buy some of her postcards, but her babbling didn't explain how much to pay for them.  Her brother eventually came over and closed the sale.  He also gave us directions to the Monastery, which was equally as beautiful as the Treasury.  We climbed into the entrance and were surprised to discover that the inside was significantly smaller than the outside.  There was a single room, no staircases, no grand mazes, no Indiana Jones, no Holy Grail.  Across from the Monastery, at the top of a mountain, there was a big banner that read "Best View in Petra."  It was pretty great; well worth the tiring climb.

By this point, we were tired from walking, but not tired enough to hire a camel, donkey, or horse, so we sodiered on back to the entrance, then up the hill toward the hotel.  It had seemed so easy coming down the hill, but 10 miles of cobblestone and sand later, we were exhausted... and apparently lost.  In the back streets, void of tourists, we searched for clues to direct us back to the hotel.  Eventually, we saw a family leaving their home and asked if they could help us.  They told us it was down the street, maybe 1/3 a mile more and offered to give us a ride, then invited us over for tea.  Once again, we were impressed by the kindness of strangers and decided that when we get back home, we want to be more like this, helpful, generous, and warm.

Dahab, Egypt

Dahab, Egypt is a relaxed beach community nestled in the rugged purple mountains of the northeast.  Day or night, the drive in is spectacular.  By day, camels roam the sandy valleys.  By night, the moon and stars cast light on the rugged purple mountains creating sharp silouettes.  It's a backpackers haven.  In fact, many wanderers have moved there indefinately, and it's easy to see why.  The prices are cheap.  The activities are plentiful.  The food is savory.  And the salespeople are friendly.

This backpacker's ghetto is located on the Red Sea, southeast of the Suez Canal, en route from Cairo to Israel (less than 2 hours from the border towns of Taba and Eilat).  From the beach, you can actually see across the sea to the mountains of Saudi Arabia.  Because of its location, we ended up staying twice.  The first time, we arrived by bus around midnight.  A young man from the bus offered to take us to Seventh Heaven, a hostel where he worked.  As we craweled into the planks in the back of his friend's jeep, I commented to Mark about how far we'd come.  A few years ago, this kind of thing may have seemed sketchy, but now it was just every day life: meet a stranger in the middle of the night, hop into their vehicle with a second stranger, drive off into the dark unknown.  I smiled.  I probably wouldn't do this at home.  I liked this lifestyle.

We arrived at Seventh Heaven and were shown a room.  We asked if we should pay now.  "No problem.  You can pay in the morning."  Two way trust.  I loved it.  The rooms were nothing special, white walls, two twin or full size beds with a nightstand in between, a door to the balcony, air conditioning, and a bathroom.  At $16 a night, it was perfect.  We liked that the staff was so friendly and warm.  They were full of great recommendations: snorkel at the lighthouse, scuba Blue Hole, get a full body Egyptian massage, walk through a traditional Bedouin village, eat at the German Bakery, rent bikes, have fun and relax! 

Mark was thrilled because Seventh Heaven had wireless internet.  I skyped my college roommates.  We ate $3.50 Egyptian breakfast complete with 2 falafel balls, a fried egg, beans, pita with tahini sauce, cucumber, tomato, and green pepper slices.  For $18 we treated ourselves to a 4 course seaside supper of savory seabass, dessert, strawberry shisha, and pita bread dipped in 4 salads (taziti, tahini, babaganoush).  It was delightful.  We got $22 massages.  I laid out in the sun.  We swam with the harmless jelly fish.  We snorkeled the colorful reef filled with puffers and tropical angel fish; we dove down to check out a cave filled with lion fish.  It was spectacular.  Scuba diving was only $25 (for a fun dive), but we opted out because we hadn't seen any great pictures, but after snorkeling we wished we had done a dive or two because the reef was so alive and colorful.  There's this delightful feeling that happens when you dip your mask down into the water and the under water world comes into focus... it's magical.

After a few days, we left Dahab to see Israel and Jordan for a week.  When we returned, the staff at Seventh Heaven ran to us with smiles on their faces and gave us big hugs.  "Welcome back!  Come in for tea and drinks!"  We didn't even remember their names, but they were greeting us like old friends.  It was wonderful and sweet, like coming home.  The guys settled us in to a similar room (with a great return customer discount).  We took another few days to relax and do a little souvineer shopping.  We ate this little hole in the wall local restaurant with dynamite seafood soup for cheap (I think it was called Yummies; from Lighthouse Scuba/Snorkel Beach Entry, take the alleyway/street away from the beach one block and it's on the corner- it's like $2 for soup or $2-3 for shrimp or scallops on a bed of rice with a side salad and tahini sauce).  Anyway, we just loved Dahab, and it's developing quickly, so if you want to enjoy it as a backpacker, get goin' already, because in 10 years, it's going to be developed for resorts, and you'll probably have a heck of a time getting by for so cheap.

Old Town, Jerusalem- Israel on Resurrection Sunday

On the morning of April 24^th, we woke up to the sunrise sounds of bells chiming, cameras flashing, and tourists whispering.  It was Easter Sunday, and we were curled up with a stray cat on a hostel‘s roof overlooking the Citadel‘s panorama.  We attended 6:30am Resurrection Services at the non-denominational Garden Tomb, just outside the Damascus Gate, where some Christians believe Christ was buried for three days then rose again.  As we sang with the international crowd, I felt weepy-eyed, moved by the familiar hymns like “Crown Him With Many Crowns” and “Did You Feel the Mountains Tremble.”  The Easter Address had to do with Doubting Thomas and Pastor Dorman Followwill’s beliefs about his character being a mopey, unmoveable man.  I doubted it.  Thomas served alongside Christ for three years like a dedicated zealot.  I felt like he was entitled to a little disappointment when Christ was crucified.  It probably felt like everything they had worked toward was for nothing.  His comrade, Judas, had committed suicide.  The 12 disciples had disbanded.  Most of us would want a little evidence that we hadn’t been scammed.  For Christ to return and encourage Thomas to touch his hands was probably what any of us would need at such a low time.  But I digress with my own subjective version of the account of John 20.

We navigated the packed streets of the Old City searching for breakfast.  I found (and I’m totally self-diagnosing here which is typical for us hypochondriacs, admittedly, another self-diagnosis) that I have a mild form of claustrophobia.  Inside the walled city, the streets were narrow with cobblestone staircases and small ramps for carts to plow through the middle of the crowds.  There were many random jarring noises (carts wheeling past, venders opening their metal gates, tourists chattering in various tongues).  I felt overwhelmed by the elbow to elbow walking traffic (there are no cars in the Old City).  Further, I felt visually over-stimulated by all of the colorful shops, plus I was hungry.  Anyway, I had that nervous feeling of “I don’t like this;  I gotta get outta here!”  I put on Mark’s ipod to drown out the excess noise and followed Mark toward what we hoped would be breakfast.  Everything seemed closed, but we finally found a little café and sat in peace as we ate falafel shawarma (which is delicious- it’s essentially deep fat fried balls of chickpeas and spices placed in a pita with pickled veggies).  I’m of the belief that everything tastes even better with sauce, so I ask for mine with chili sauce and tahini dip.

From there, we armed ourselves with a map and set out to see the historical sites.  Among them, we saw:

1.  The Wailing Wall (or Western Wall on the edge of the Temple Mount where the Muslim Dome of the Rock now sits).  It’s the last remaining wall of King Solomon’s temple which was replaced by the Holy of Holies of Herod’s Temple.  At the Dung Gate, the entrance/exit to the site, we witnessed a baby’s parents being arrested… they refused to have their bags searched because they had hashish inside, but the cops treated it like a bomb and sent in 12-15 cops to tackle them.  Because the site is considered holy to several religions, it’s an intense place to be, security wise.

2.  The church of the Holy Sepulchre (ie: Golgatha, the Hill of Calvary).  Although the Franciscan monks may boast about the underground maze of gold paintings and ornate hanging lights, this place was fascinating to me because of the high quality people-watching.  This site is special because it’s believed to be the place where Christ was crucified and prepared for burial.  It’s particularly popular among Eastern Christians who come with their relics and souvenir t-shirts to rub them over the anointing stone.  Other rituals include kneeling under a table and running hands over “Holy-Spirit lit” candles.  As an outsider to the rituals, it looked a lot like a pagan festival filled with superstition.

3)     3.  Via De La Rosa, the path of Christ as He carried the cross.  We placed our hands on the wall where he rested and Simon helped him.  In all of my pictures I smile, but this one I didn’t feel like it was appropriate, so I tried to appear solemn.  Then I took one of Mark.  He had a big smile on his face.  I was like, “maybe it would be more appropriate not to smile.”  He was like “Yeah, what was I thinking.” And followed it with an over-dramatic grimace which made me laugh.  We’re maybe not the best tourists when it comes to following all of the social cues.
   
      4.  Pilot’s Palace where Christ was condemned.

5)     Gahenna, or the Valley of Ben Hinnom, ie: Hell Park, where we laid down and had a lovely nap

6)      David’s Tomb, near the room of the Last Supper (which appeared surprisingly updated)

7)      Mt. of Olives (where Jesus taught the disciples)

8)      Garden of Gethsemane (where Jesus prayed)

9)      Dome of the Rock Mosque.  It took us 7 tries to get in.  Each time it was closed for prayers, closed to visitors, closed from this gate, yada yada yada.   Finally, we were able to enter… and then found out we couldn’t go inside the mosque itself, so we did that online.

I may have forgotten a few places due to all of the excessive walking (and this from a gal who LOVES to walk).  One thing that was interesting about the Old Town is that it’s divided up into 4 quarters: Christian, Muslim, Armenian, and Jewish.  We heard a lot of statements like, “Jerusalem is totally safe, just watch out for the _______ people.”  Each sector doesn’t necessarily trust the other which makes for an interesting dynamic.  Still, you can buy silver menorahs, wooden crosses, and plaques of Dome of the Rock Mosque all in one shop, and they’ll accept payment in dollars, euros, or sheckels.

Tremping Through Israel During Shabbat and Passover

We were standing with our bags, waiting for the bus to Israel when a nosy guy from New York overheard Mark’s and my conversation and decided to give his opinion on the matter.  With disbelief and doubt, and a big hint of snobbery, he introjected, “You know you’re going to Israel during Passover, the highest tourist season of the year, right?”  We hadn’t realized it was Passover (Easter), but this wasn’t going to deter us from going to Israel.  “The buses won’t be running, and you’ll never get a room,” he added.  With the tone of, “Thank you Mr. Pessimism, but I’m sure we’ll find something expensive and available,” we thanked him for the information and climbed into the back of the shuttle headed toward the Israeli border.

Middle East politics dictate some occasional dancing, so we bought our multiple re-entry visa for 51.25 Egyptian Pounds (about $10 US) as we exited the border town of Taba, Egypt (the re-entry visa guarantees an ability to return to Egypt after being in Israel, but just to be sure there were no problems, we made sure Israel stamped a separate piece of paper rather than our passports.  Astonished, the Israeli security guard asked “Why?” like no one had ever requested this service, but every savvy traveler asks for the separate stamp because Middle Eastern countries aren’t best buds with Israel and oftentimes will hassle or refuse to let travelers in if they have the Israeli stamp in their passport).

From the border, we took a $17 taxi to the bus station and discovered that it was in fact true that there were no buses running due to Shabbat (Sabboth) and Passover (an 8 day religious holiday when no Jew works- and the Jews make up over 80% of the country, so there weren’t many services available).  The hotels were packed, so we walked to the main road and observed tons of young Israeli’s partying on the Red Sea.   We decided to try hitch hiking north to Jerusalem.   We put our thumbs out, said a prayer, and 15-20 minutes later, whah-lah, our first ride.  We hoped into a black hatch-back with two young barefoot hippies who lived on a kabut, or commune.  They took us about an hour up the road and dropped us off at a bus station. 

From there, we thumbed a ride from a twenty-something male and female Israeli Defense Force (IDF) soldiers.  They took us another hour up the road to a bus stand outside the tiny, agricultural town of Zofar.  As they left, they explained that no stores would be open, so they loaded us up on cans of tuna, corn, pickles, and matzah (unleavened bread, like crackers, which is eaten in place of yeast bread during Passover).  

Still in high spirits, we began to wonder if we would be camping out in the chilly desert for the night (which is no exactly legal… if found you can get a 500 sheckel fine, roughly $175).  We prayed again and a car pulled over. Surprisingly, it was the same kids who had dropped us off.  “Hop in, we found you a room.”  “Wow!  Thanks!” we replied.  They drove us to the Ziv family farm where they gave us a free private room with 3 beds and hot running water.  The owner explained that workers completed the season 1 week ago, so the room was now available and we were welcome to stay.  We were astonished.  They didn’t know us from anyone and had given us a ride, food, and a room for free.  We were grateful beyond words.

In the morning, we walked back to the main road and started hitch hiking again.  The flies were buzzing around someone’s night dung napkins that had been crumpled and littered along the otherwise clean roadside.  We ate a dry chunk of crumbling, cracker matza and prayed for ride.  A couple in their early 50’s, on their way to visit their son who was serving in the Israeli Air Force (a 5 year commitment rather than the mandated 3 years), pulled over and invited us into their white minivan.  They chatted happily about their travels as young adults in Iran and the United States and Canada.  We chugged along, chatting for about 40 minutes and then they explained that they were turning another direction and we’d probably have luck getting an easy ride at this location.  Sure enough, it wasn’t long before a Russian mineral truck pulled over and told us to hop in the back with the driver’s 9 year old daughter, Lena, who was excited to go swimming in the Dead Sea.  The Dead Sea?!!  What luck!  We decided to swim as well.

Using the public restroom, we changed into our swimming suits and plopped our bags down amongst the others.  It appeared as a sea of floating people.  We took turns sitting down, laying back, and floating like a mattress was underneath us.  We watched as some people covered themselves in a black mud-bath.  The signs suggested not to linger over 15 minutes, so we showered off and kicked back on the beach with our books.  When we got hungry, we walked down the street to McDonald’s hoping for cheap food, but quickly discovered that McDonalds is a high-end chain in Israel.  We spent roughly $30 on one salad and a burger meal.  We were surprised by the number of families buying happy meals for their kids.  This was Europe, and everyone was on holiday.  We joined in the madness and added a coffee and ice cream to the mix.

With that familiar McD’s feeling of simultaneous satisfaction and depression, we walked back to the highway and again began tremping (as it’s called in Hebrew).  A small truck appeared, and again, we were on our way north.  Shamelessly, the pleasant couple up front, told us that they were having an affair and that the blonde woman in the front seat was the driver’s mistress.  They were on their way to 4-wheel drive in the desert and would we like to join them?  Mark and I looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders and said, “Why not?”  For the next few hours, we jeeped through the mountains of the Negev desert with complete strangers.  It was as dry as could be, but we saw bedowin camels scattered throughout the valleys searching for water holes.  The view of the Dead Sea down below was spectacular, and toward the end of the drive, we happened upon what we were told was a monastery but turned out to be a Muslim mosque for men only.  It was out of their way, but the couple wanted to score points with Yehweh, so they told us they wanted to take us all the way to Jerusalem. 

As we neared the holy city, the brown landscape began to spritz green.  When the driver missed the turn, he promptly started yelling out the window that he was being punished by God for his adulterous affair.  We laughed, but felt bad that they had gone out of their way to take us somewhere and now it was adding extra time to their return trip.  We said they could just drop us anywhere, but the driver responded, “No, the people here are religious; they’ll stone you.”  We laughed, but when we got dropped off we saw what he meant.  The men were dressed like Amish Russians in black suits with big fluffy round fur hats and two long black curls of hair bobbing on either side of their bearded face.  It was like we had entered a movie set filled with Jewish Rabbi’s.  “Is this just for holidays or do the men always dress like this?” I inquired.  “Always.  They’re very religious.”

We gathered our bearings and walked to the Central Bus Station as the sun was setting.  All businesses were closed for Shabbat, but would reopen at 8pm, people assured us.  Sure enough, at 8pm, the crowd was ushered through the metal detectors and security gate into the station.  Up the escalators, on the 3^rd floor, we met a fast-talking IDF soldier.  Turns out, Matan is a dual citizen who was raised in New York.  He was a wealth of great information about the busses, culture, Jerusalem, and hostels.  He recommended the Citadel Youth Hostel, assessable through Jaffa Gate, just a 30 minute walk downtown into the Old City.  We took the recommendation and ended up on some of the last-available rooftop mattress in the Christian Quarter for $30 per night.

Despite the high season of tourism, lack of busses during Shabbat, and the added complexity of the Passover holiday, we had managed to make our way to Jerusalem and find affordable accommodations.  It’s maybe not the way that most people would choose to get to Jerusalem, but maybe that’s what was so much fun about it- it was a true adventure.  We never knew where we’d be sleeping, what we’d be eating, or who we’d be riding next to, but we had the faith that it would all work out just fine.  And it turned out so much better than “fine;” it was a true adventure.

Riding A Camel Through the Pyramids of Giza- Cairo, Egypt

About 5 years ago, Bill and Nancy Vrettos showed me pictures of their world travels, and I remember being struck by one photo in particular; it was of Nancy on a camel in the desert.  I remember thinking, “THAT is so cool.  What a special memory!  I want that picture for me and my future children.”  I have this photo now- there’s me, on a camel, in the Sahara desert, with the Pyramids in the background.  This photo is special to me because it represents a part of my life that is very important to me, adventure travel. 

Traveling has shaped my world view: my political viewpoints, my philosophies about the universal nature of people, God, poverty, wealth, family, fear, security, equality, justice, possibilities, persistence, and joy.  Travel has given me a knowledge that I am beyond fortunate to have been born in one of the most financially accessible countries in the world, with access to education and a passport that allows me to go nearly anywhere I choose to.  More than ever before, travel has given me a feeling of connection to my home (America), where things are familiar.  But that feeling of home now stretches beyond the borders of my little homeland of the United States.  I see the U.S. as a small stretch on a full globe with an impact that ripples and touches the farthest corners.  As I see the globe, there are faces and landscapes and culture attached to each place that I’ve been and it doesn’t allow me to think in terms of “those people,” because we’re all just people, born where-ever we’re born and living the only way that makes sense to us at this particular point in history.  And what makes sense to me right now is experiential travel, the kind where Mark and I show up at a place and figure it out for ourselves, without a tour package, with the help of locals, some broken English, and a bit of pantomiming.

Experiential travel isn’t for everybody.  Sometimes it’s uncomfortable.  The opportunity costs are high, but in the end, for me, it’s totally worth it.  And I guess that’s what I saw in the photo of Nancy on the camel... I saw the work that Bill and Nancy had gone through to save up and take a year off to travel, the lengths to which they pushed themselves to tackle the uncomfortable, and the uniquely rewarding experiences they obtained as a result.  And it makes me proud that Mark and I have been able to achieve this for ourselves.  We’re not so unique; we see other backpackers everywhere we go.  They’re doing the same thing that we are, delighting in these gems around the world, but it makes me a little sad to see that so few of them are Americans.  Why do so few Americans take these adventures?  I think it might be because we are scared of what it might cost us.  We might have to give up our slice of the American Dream of a debt-obtained house, 2 cars, and a “secure” job.  It might seem like planning a trip is overwhelming, or the location is just too far away, so we put it off into the future.  But we’re not promised any days beyond the one we’re living, so my suggestion is, if you see something that excites you, don’t sell yourself short.  Get out there and find a way to make it happen.  Go find the joy in life.  And if you happen upon a camel in the Sahara, ride it through the pyramids, because it may well be one of the most delightful experiences of your life.

Riding toward the Pyramids

Our caravan- just me, Mark, our guide, 2 camels, and 1 horse... and of course,
 the guy on his donkey selling Coca Cola :-)

Mark giving kisses to his ornery camel

Climbing #2 Pyramid

Sphinx

Our Photographer- thanks for the great pose ideas!

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These guys were laughing at, then copying, our poses